


Five Attempts and the Final Straw

by MorbidKitty



Series: To the Stars [2]
Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Angst and Humor, Consensual Sex, Disabled Character, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Jealousy, Older Woman/Younger Man, Pining, Post-Star Wars: The Force Awakens, Romance, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-02
Updated: 2017-12-20
Packaged: 2018-05-29 18:01:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6386830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MorbidKitty/pseuds/MorbidKitty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times Poe and Fox tried to be discreet and failed – and one time when they finally stopped trying.</p><p>A 5+1 companion piece for In Perfect Silence at the Stars.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Words written and unspoken

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [In Perfect Silence at the Stars](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5679400) by [MorbidKitty](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MorbidKitty/pseuds/MorbidKitty). 



To most people, Poe Dameron is known for his unique piloting, charisma, and leadership. The senior commanding officers of the Resistance value him for his ability to inspire others, ensuring that everyone from the youngest volunteer to the highest level of command will give just a little more of themselves when it is needed. With only a few words, the Commander of the Starfighter Corps can make his fellow pilots follow him anywhere, certain of victory.  
  
But not many know that Poe is also a sentimental, reflective man who feels the pressure heaped on his shoulders, particularly when he finds himself alone with his thoughts. On endlessly long missions, it is only through BB-8’s company that he is able to deal with his worst bouts of melancholia as his head fills with thoughts of the friends he has lost, his home planet, his parents – and her.  
  
Nylah.  
  
Long red hair, face as calm as still water, and steel grey eyes that soften when she looks at him.  
  
During the long days apart and no contact with her, he finds himself worrying he could forget the details, like the outline of her shoulder blades, the curve of her lips and the profile of her nose. Despite the speed of his traveling, he finds the distances disorientating and sometimes he wonders whether a place he saw briefly is real or just a figment of his imagination. He fears that the distortion of physics and time itself in space will some day tamper with his memories of their moments together.  
  
His sporadic sleeping schedule is no help and sometimes, as he jolts awake in the Black One, he can’t recall her face for a terrifying moment. He assures BB-8 that he is alright but wishes he had something of hers with him to remind him that the kiss they shared in her office before his departure was real and not a dream.  
  
He sighs, hankering back to a more simple time in his life.  
  
When he was still a small boy growing up on Yavin 4, he used to practice letters by drawing them in the morning dew that would gather on his mother’s A-wing. Shara Bey, still full of life, would laugh when she noticed the clumsy letters decorating her fighter, spelling out the names of people – Leia Organa, Luke Skywalker, and his parents – who most inspired the little boy’s imagination.  
  
Now, more than twenty years later, Poe realizes that while he no longer dreams about becoming a pilot and a war hero, he still needs a guiding star. He pulls off his glove, blows on his cockpit window and writes a single word on it. Even as his forefinger finishes the last letter, he feels a little silly. It is the sort of thing he would do as a learning fighter pilot when he carved the initials of his lover onto his X-wing on a whim. He stares at the word even as it fades and he can barely see it.  
  
When he finally gets to return to the Base, he glances at the writing one more time before getting out of the cockpit, deciding to just leave it there. Exhausted, he does the necessary debriefings, and then he goes to Fox’s room, not caring who sees him enter it as comfortably as his own.  
  
The next day, Colonel Fox, a fresh love bite hidden under her high collar, chats with Snipes on the landing strip. She soon notices people are giving her amused looks, giggling a little as they walk past. Feeling a bit paranoid over the mark on her neck, she comments on the strange behavior, hoping Snipes will enlighten her. The old mechanic chuckles and suggests she go take a look at Commander Dameron’s X-wing.  
  
So she does.  
  
Glittering in the bright sunlight, the Black One’s open cockpit window calls attention to itself and the writing is impossible to miss. With the humid climate, the letters spelling out her first name stand out so clearly, he may just as well have shouted “Nylah” in front of the entire force of the Resistance.  
  
She expects to feel frustrated over his lack of discretion, but the feeling doesn’t come. Instead, there is a surge of tenderness so strong she turns on her heels and heads back towards the Base entrance. She goes back to her room wanting to tell him what a silly, sweet man he is and that she adores him… but he is soundly asleep and she can’t bring herself to disturb him. Still, she silently walks over to the bed where he lies in a tangle of white sheets.  
  
What she feared to be true all those months ago – that she loves him, would rather give her own blood than lose him – she now knows to be the most concrete thing she has felt in her forty years. She feels guilty for not telling him that enough. Every time she tries, the words get stuck in her throat, so she hopes he can see it in her eyes when he smiles at her. Fox is simply not the sort to wear her heart on her sleeve, and confessions of love will never come easy to her.  
  
She hopes he has it in him to forgive her this failing, too.  
  
She sits down on the bed, hoping the shift in the mattress won’t wake him, and places her hand over his heart.  
  
More than my own life, she thinks, unable to look away from his peaceful face. More than _anything_ I know.


	2. His and hers

Soon after Poe and Fox become an item, he discovers that the newfound intimacy isn’t easy for her. To him, romance means that the definitions of what precisely is his and what is hers become blurred. It’s not as simple for Fox at first, but as much as she would like to keep everything, from her emotions to her scant belongings, neat and tidy, she has to let a few things slide when Poe enters her life.  
  
It’s one of her walls that he takes down, brick by brick, until she no longer cares that sometimes her room is more of a mess than she is used to. After she agrees to compromise on her strict boundaries, Poe discovers that she adapts quickly. As time goes by, she is no longer bothered by the occasional abandoned plate on her table or the miniature X-wing model, which Poe has fixed to the ceiling without her knowledge. He notes that she actually seems to like the change.  
  
And it works both ways.  
  
Poe begins to find hairpins in his pockets, having no idea how they got there. During one particularly early briefing, he is startled to realize Fox is drinking caf from his cup in front of the Resistance’s highest level of command. He manages to catch her eye across the room and mouths: “That’s mine.”  
  
She winks at him over the rim of the cup, and he feels himself blush.  
  
One day, Poe realizes they may have gotten a bit too relaxed, even by his standards. The day starts like any other when he has stayed in Fox’s room for the night. Regimented to a fault, she wakes up early and freshens up quickly before dressing in the dark. She mutters to herself when she can’t find her Colonel’s insignia.  
  
“The shelf,” Poe mumbles, half asleep.  
  
He hears her grab something and watches her pause in the middle of the room to attach the pin to her uniform.  
  
“I have to go,” she says, not sounding very enthusiastic about it. “I’d give you kiss, but you might pull me back in there.”  
  
Instead of admitting her hunch is correct, he just hums contentedly as she leaves.  
  
When Poe finally leaves the room with BB-8 in tow, it doesn’t take him long to realize something is up.  
  
It’s nothing new that fellow members of the Resistance greet him as he walks by, but he can’t help but feel there is something decidedly strange about their tone of voice and the way they look at him. A couple of his fellow pilots even salute him respectfully – although they hide their smirks very badly – and stand at attention as he continues on his way.  
  
It is Jessika who gives him the final hint.  
  
“Congratulations on your promotion!” she shouts after him, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Quite a rise! Don’t think that’s ever happened before.”  
  
A nasty suspicion creeps into his mind, and he dashes into the next empty storage room he finds – and lets his eyes drop to his chest.  
  
Well… shit.  
  
“Boy, is she going to hate this,” he says out loud, looking at the Colonel’s insignia carefully attached to his flight suit.  
  
Next to him, BB-8 makes a sound that could only be described as a snicker.  
  
“You noticed and didn’t say a thing?”  
  
The droid beeps nonchalantly.  
  
As far as practical jokes go, Poe has to admit it’s a pretty good one. If most of the people he has seen so far have noticed that Commander Dameron has become Colonel Dameron overnight, there is no chance Fox’s shrewd team has missed the sudden demotion of their commanding officer.  
  
Shaking his head, Poe unclips the insignia from his chest and kneels down to BB-8’s level. The droid avoids eye contact but eventually swivels its head around to face Poe.  
  
“Since you are partially to blame for this mess – oh _yes_ , you are!”  
  
The droid makes an indignant sound.  
  
“I’d never let you go out in public with your antenna bent this and that way,” Poe points out.  
  
BB-8 admits he is right.  
  
“Anyway, you can help me fix this and make sure Nylah stays happy with me, okay?”  
  
BB-8 might be mischievous but it’s not mean. It feigns disinterest for a few seconds until a compartment on its side opens. Poe slips the insignia inside.  
  
“Alright, buddy, let’s head to the Command Center.”  
  
Once there, Poe stays in the main room while BB-8 rolls off to the Recon Center. He can see Fox through the panorama window, standing over a hologram. Even from a distance, the insignia on her uniform looks uncannily like his.  
  
Soon after BB-8 enters through the Blue Room’s doors, Fox looks down. Poe sees her freeze as her eyes widen. Her gaze drops to Poe’s insignia on her chest and he knows, oh he _knows_ he shouldn’t laugh, but it’s bubbling up his throat before he can stop it. It earns him a strange look from Major Brance who happens to be standing nearby. Poe clears his throat, acknowledges the Major politely and bites on his own finger to hold back any further giggles.  
  
Fox slaps a hand over her mouth – but it’s not in shock as he first thinks. The corners of her eyes crinkle and her shoulders shake from silent laughter. At BB-8’s gentle urging, no doubt, she composes herself, looks around and unclips Poe’s insignia from her uniform. She kneels down for a while, disappearing from his sight, and when she emerges again, she is fixing her own insignia in place.  
  
When she spots him leaning on a column in the Command Center, he waves at her, not bothering to hide his grin.  
  
“Never again,” she mouths at him through the window, her face glowing in embarrassment.  
  
He nods and stays a while to watch her get back to work. As BB-8 returns to him, he can’t help but suspect there will definitely be a next time when they just mix up something else instead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> She's softening, isn't she? At least when it comes to romance.
> 
> My ever-lasting gratitude belongs to my beta.


	3. Her Type

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And up the rating goes.

The Resistance Base is a community of its own, complete with tightly knit groups of friends and intense rivalries, adventurous flirtation, romance – and jealousy. Gossip is commonplace, even necessary. It provides a welcome distraction, a reminder of life beyond constant vigilance and worry. Despite his rank, Poe likes to take his meals with his squadrons, and it never fails to provide him with the latest stories.  
  
Snap, however, manages to surprise him this time.  
  
“The Colonel is a pretty good-looking woman,” Snap points out during one of their meager dinners in the Base’s dimly lit mess hall.  
  
Poe looks over and sees Fox talking with Major Brance at the far end of the room. It’s been a long day for her and a generous strand of red hair has escaped from her knot and hangs prettily over her cheek. It’s silky and soft, he knows, and although Fox does her hair carefully each morning, that stubborn strand never seems to stay put all day.  
  
Poe also knows the exact spot where Fox hides the pin that holds the hairstyle in place. Pull on it and her red locks come tumbling down. He tries to hide his smirk but suspects he’s unsuccessful.  
  
“She is quite eye-catching, yeah,” Jessika admits, giving Fox a discreet onceover. “I’m surprised she’s not married at her age.”  
  
“I wouldn’t assume anything about her status,” Poe says almost automatically. “She’s very private.”  
  
“Do you think there’s something going on between Fox and Brance?” Snap says out of the blue. ”They’re standing pretty close to each other. Wonder what they’re talking about…”  
  
“Huh, you’re right,” Jessika says. “And he _is_ around her age and, as far as I know, he doesn’t have a family of his own. They might well be an item.”  
  
“Unlikely,” Poe says more tersely than he intends, not liking the direction of the conversation. “He’s not her type.”  
  
“Well, how would you know that?” Jessika challenges, smiling strangely.  
  
Poe knows he has said more than Fox would have liked so he shrugs, feeling a dark lump in his chest. He chews his food almost angrily and leaves without a word, followed only by Snap and Jessika’s snickering. Poe intends to go for a short walk around the Resistance complex – perhaps to check on the Black One, perhaps to simply cool off – but soon he finds himself making his way to Fox’s door – for the third night in a row. He lets himself in and waits for her, knowing she would turn in for the night after the late dinner.  
  
Used to his frequent visits, she is not surprised to see him sitting at the small table in her room. She tends to prefer more carefully planned trysts, but the words she greets him with tell him she’s happy to see him.  
  
“Back for more?” she says with a knowing smile as she closes the door.  
  
If ‘more’ wasn’t already on his mind, it most certainly is now.  
  
Poe makes an attempt at small talk, but, being a man of action, he has never been good at dancing around the issue. Within minutes of her arrival, he begins tugging at her clothes and punctuates each insistent touch with an attentive kiss, wordlessly asking her to understand. Fox looks at him curiously, and he can read the questions on her face, but she goes with his fevered mood, allowing him to strip her to her underwear. She certainly has no complaints about his enthusiasm, that much is obvious from the way she looks up at him – excited, curious and expectant – when he presses her down on her bed.  
  
“May I?” he asks as his hand rests on her briefs.  
  
She nods.  
  
Poe takes his sweet time with his Colonel and only takes his pleasure when she has had hers. He has to slap a hand over her mouth when she gets more vocal than usual from his attentions. The walls aren’t that thick, people and droids alike could probably hear her. A second later, he changes his mind and removes his hand to see how loud he can make her.  
  
_Quite_ loud, it turns out.  
  
If someone does hear her, well… the thought alone is enough to send him over the edge.  
  
He only feels his blood calm down when they lie together in a heap, her head resting against his chest as their labored breathing subsides.  
  
“So? What brought this on?” she asks after a while, raising an eyebrow.  
  
Poe thinks about the answer for a moment but can’t find the right words. He begins to laugh – from having been so jealous of her, from claiming her so enthusiastically it resembled marking her and from the sheer happiness of having her securely in his arms. He only laughs harder when her brow furrows in confusion. He sits up with her in his lap, wrapping an arm around her waist to steady her.  
  
“I know _exactly_ what your type is,” he teases her huskily and nuzzles her neck, rasping his stubble against her soft skin – and Fox _squeals_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry it took this long, guys, but I said I would finish this and that is definitely happening. :)
> 
> Over the last several months I've had health issues ranging from carpal tunnel symptoms to re-occurring flues, sinus infections and whatnot. To top it all of, my computer which had all my chapter drafts died on me. And I mean died. The memory was unrecoverable although I took the laptop to professionals.
> 
> In short, It's been TOUGH. And as a result, I really had to prioritize taking care of myself over writing and doing a bunch of other things. But it looks like we're finally in the clear and I am back to something resembling a normal life schedule with work, chores and other stuff. I can finally continue writing. Yay!
> 
> As always, a heartfelt thanks to my tireless beta. She's the bomb.


	4. Claim

With the destruction of Starkiller Base, the Resistance effectively has established itself as a serious galactic force, prepared to keep darkness at bay against all odds. Fox isn’t surprised when this begins to draw in fresh-faced recruits from several systems, all eager to make a difference.

The newly arrived pilots, naturally, fall under Poe’s command and responsibility which includes induction into the Resistance and its Starfighter Corps. He may be reckless in the cockpit, but when it comes to his squadrons and his position as a Commander, Poe is what Fox is tempted to call exhaustive but was, at any rate, methodical and thorough.

Both are traits which would have perhaps made him an excellent spy if he wasn’t so impulsive – a fact proven on his disastrous mission to Jakku.

Fox hasn’t admitted it to him, but she loves to watch him at work. His sheer knowledge and understanding of the way spacecraft – or anything with a control stick and thrusters to move it forward, really – behaves and should be handled is mesmerizing. He is able to answer questions with pinpoint accuracy and to debunk any false ideas about combat.

Which is why one quiet day finds Fox dawdling at the landing strip where Poe is training a group of pilots, all wearing their orange flight suits after a morning of exercises in the skies of D’Qar.

“Aggressive engagement with other high performance spacecraft isn’t pretty,” he says matter-of-factly. “We, in particular, are at a disadvantage against the First Order’s TIE fighters. They’re newer, faster and they have more fire power.”

He has discarded his flak vest and harness. Off to the side, BB-8 is fiddling with the strap of his helmet, no doubt testing to see if it’s still in good condition or whether it needs to be changed.

Fox knows she isn’t the only one who likes to watch Poe at work, and, by the stars, she is used to it by now. Hardly a day goes by without someone batting their eyelashes at Poe, and Fox can’t bring herself to blame them for it. Hadn’t she, a CO, become just as infatuated with him? She may have originally attempted to squash any such feeling for him, but she had utterly failed – and now every beautiful inch of him belonged to her.

She scoffs, admonishing herself for letting Poe distract her once again and she finally turns to leave.

“How common is it for X-wing pilots to fly fully on manual in combat?” a young, strikingly handsome man asks. “Surely the fighter is more maneuverable like that.”

“I wouldn’t advise on it,” Poe counters with a hint of mirth. “Not unless you are very good and know your fighter well.”

“Bet you can do it, though,” the pilot retorts with such a flirtatious undertone that it draws a few amused giggles from the other and makes Fox look back over her shoulder.

It’s not the man’s question but the way Poe grins at the comment that makes her stop.

_Mine_. The word flashes in her thoughts, burning bright, almost surprising her with its immediate intensity. A relationship with a younger man is constantly teaching her new things about herself, and what Fox learns on the spot is that she is not as immune to jealousy as she would like to believe.

“Commander, I need you this instant,” she calls over before she can stop herself and begins heading for her corvette in brisk strides.

“Colonel,” Poe says, his brow furrowing, and excuses himself to the group of pilots. “Stay there, BB-8, I’ll be back in a while.”

Not looking back, she hears him jog to catch up to her. As she walks, she presses her head down, trying to suppress a grin because she knows that he is likely mentally preparing himself to be sent on a secret mission to a far off place.

He is not entirely wrong, she _is_ planning on sending him to a far off orbit – but not in the way he thinks.

The ramp of the corvette is down and she heads inside, Poe at her heels. Only a lone astromech is there, busily fiddling with a set of loose wires tumbling out of an open panel. Other than that, the ship is empty, _should_ be empty.

“Out,” Fox deadpans at the droid and it immediately stops its work before speeding down the ramp and out of sight.

“What is it?” Poe asks, looking concerned but his face morphs into confusion right before Fox backs him against the wall and crushes her mouth to his, making him grunt in surprise.

It’s moments like this when Fox appreciates his adaptive nature, his willingness to ask questions later. He remains still only a fraction of a second before he reciprocates, arms going around her to pull her closer, humming at the back of his throat when her fingers knot into his hair. She pulls his lower lip between her teeth and, in response, she can feel him harden under his clothes.

It takes a will of iron for her to break the kiss instead of giving into him. Sighing, she presses two fingers against his mouth when he moves forward to capture her lips again. She almost laughs at the adorably puzzled expression on his face.

“Enjoying the attention?” Fox asks, taking one step back, as she brings a hand to the zipper of his flight suit and begins to pull it down slowly.

“What do you mean?” he asks, his eyes going back and forth between her face and her hand.

She doesn’t answer. Instead, she snakes her other hand between their bodies and cups him firmly, smothering his groan with another kiss before trailing a line of soft pecks from the corner of his mouth to the side of his neck. When his hands go to the buttons of her dark blue uniform, she grabs his wrists.

“Hands off,” she says in a commanding tone against his quickening pulse, pushing his arms back to his sides.

“Yes, ma’am,” Poe purrs and relaxes, allowing her to continue.

“Can you keep quiet?” Fox breathes into his ear, her breath a warm tickle on his cheek, as she pulls up the hem of his white shirt to expose more of his bronzed skin while her other hand teases at his waistband, the tips of her fingers slipping under it.

Poe nods quickly, desire flaring in his eyes. He stays endearingly still, only the slight tension on his neck and jaw giving his excitement away as Fox pulls the flight suit down below his hips. His eyes flick nervously towards the entrance of the spacecraft. Fox is fully aware that they are not well-hidden, far from it. They can see the boots of the people walking past, with bits of conversation carrying all the way inside the corvette.

“I do have work, you know,” Poe says unconvincingly as her hand goes to stroke him over his underwear. “Someone could walk in any second.”

Her hand stills. “Should I stop then?”

_Don’t you dare_ , his eyes say as he swallows hard.

“I thought so,” she murmurs, resuming the caresses. “Besides I wanted you to myself for a moment.”

“Oh…!” he realizes, victorious. “The guy back there...” He regards her fondly, eyes sparkling and warm as he leans on the wall for support. “I do love it when you get jealou – ” The word disappears into a gasp as Fox’s hand slips beneath his underwear to wrap around him.

”What was that?” Fox taunts him lightly. “What were you going to say just now?”

He chuckles breathlessly and, disregarding her earlier command, grabs the back of her neck to bring her in for a sloppy kiss. Fox decides not to argue and focuses on reading the way he squirms and shivers when her thumb swipes over the head of his length, turning him into little more than a puddle of need. She suspects their compromised location only serves to excite him further, it’s simply the way he is wired. He _loves_ taking risks. What _could_ they even do if one the new recruits or, worse, one of the other commanding officers walked in on them?

Luckily, the way Poe is panting into her ear ensures that she wouldn’t care if General Organa barged in.

Under her ministrations, he begins to feel more and more like a coiled spring – a tell-tale sign that he’s quickly unraveling from the inside and just when he begins to buck into her hand, she draws it away.

He protests at the loss of contact, giving her a dirty look. “Really?”

Fox crosses her arms over her chest, ignoring the heat pooling between her legs. He is breathing heavily, partially from arousal, partially from frustration.

“Are you mine?” she asks, hoping her insecurity isn’t as evident as she fears.

“ _Yes_ ,” he sighs, a fetching sight with his tousled hair and flushed face. “Caraya’s soul, yes. I am yours. You don’t have to doubt that, Nylah. Not ever.”

Satisfied with his answer, she ghosts her hands over his lower stomach, tantalizingly close to where he wants her touch.

“Please,” he whines as her eyes settle on his.

In a moment Fox will later fail to explain even to herself, she kneels. He has just enough time to grab onto some piping above them before her mouth envelops him and he makes a choked sound. His other hand goes to her carefully coiffed hair, ruining it, as he brazenly tries to get her to take more of him in.  

His legs are shaking and Fox has the presence of mind to wonder how long he can resist falling to the floor. Deciding it might be better to hurry things along, she swirls her tongue around him slowly, wrenching an indelicate moan from his lips. In response, Fox pulls back from him.

“That’s a bit loud, Commander,” she snarls before taking him back in, intent on making sure he can’t make any coherent retort.

His hold on the piping above him starts to slip and though he tries to swallow his whimpers of pleasure, at the end he has to let go of her hair to bite down on his clenched fist.

Fox almost regrets that their fun is coming to an end so soon but it’s just as well. Her bad knee is killing her, protesting against the uncomfortable position, and she can’t imagine any of the young pilots won’t come looking for them very soon. She drags her fingernails over his hip bones, drawing a garbled attempt at her name from his mouth.

She loves it when he gets like this because of her, how she can turn him into putty in a matter of minutes.

Almost without warning, he draws in a sharp breath and goes rigid from head to toe as the pleasure cresting inside of him reaches its peak and he spends himself in her mouth. When his limbs go slack again, he almost slides down the wall but catches himself just as Fox stands back up again, wiping the corner of her mouth. She tucks him back into his underwear and pulls his shirt back down.

“Catch your breath, my treasure,” she says tenderly and presses a delicate kiss to his cheek. She can’t help the mischievous tone that creeps into her voice. “You still have work today.”

With one final, deep inhale at his neck, she tears herself away from him and walks down the ramp, back ramrod straight.

Eyes half-closed, Poe watches her go and smiles to himself, willing his breath to slow down. When he finally pushes himself away from the wall, he sways on his feet for a moment before deciding he can’t be bothered to pull his flight suit all the way up and just lets it hang around his waist as he swaggers down the ramp to make his way back to his little group.

He feels light-headed, relaxed and energized at once but, for the life of him, he doesn’t understand how he is supposed to continue discussing aerial combat when all he wants is to follow Fox and return the favor.

Still, he returns to the Black One where the confused gang of pilots are still waiting for him. They regard him oddly and he knows how suspicious he must look, glowing and still a bit flushed – it happens every time he fools around with Fox. He is tempted to laugh at the look on their faces, half curious to know if their Commander is a minute from leaving the Base on a dangerous mission and, if not, what the intimidating Colonel wanted.

“What did she need you for?” the flirtatious pilot asks, as if on cue.

“That’s, uh, that’s classified,” Poe drawls.

Off to the side, BB-8 makes a long-suffering, drawn out noise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See, I am still working on this although it takes a while for me to update. ;) I blame inconvenient stuff like work getting in the way.
> 
> All thanks go to my beta who not only helped make this better but also pointed out that there's no need to choose what jobs are performed because you can always include both. And no one does a more thorough job than Fox.


	5. The Foxiest

”Will you be able to fix it?” Poe asks the old mechanic. The grey-haired man has been studying the cannon for a disconcerting length of time. One of the recruits had practically tripped over it in the woods close to the Base, still attached to the ruined, rotten corpse of a fighter downed long ago on D’Qar. Although the ship is beyond salvageable, the cannon itself appears mostly intact.  
  
“I might be, yes,” Snipes muses, wrenching open a twisted panel to take a look inside. “And if I can’t, I can do something else with the parts.”  
  
“Good, beggars can’t be choosers,” Poe says, turning to leave the hangar. “Lemme know how it works out, Grumps.”  
  
“Just ‘Snipes’ will do, hotshot,” he grumbles good-naturedly.

“Of course, I always forget,” Poe hoots back over his shoulder, shrugging.  
  
As long as Poe remembers, he has given everyone nicknames effortlessly, often half by accident. They come to him mid-sentence, usually by the second or third time he talks to the person. Or droid, for that matter. If the situation calls for it, he can find the right name in a matter of seconds, like Finn. Poe is still proud that one stuck – and not just as a nickname but _his name_ , the one the Stormtrooper turned hero carries proudly.  
  
Of course, not everyone takes their new alternate names in stride. Some cringe, others blush, while a few just give Poe a strange look and a nervous laugh. Major Brance actually stared at him with a blank expression for several seconds after Poe had called him Majorly Sharp. At the time, the man had just spotted a damn near invisible anomaly on a radar. What else were you supposed to call him?  
  
Then there’s Fox. The first time Poe calls her ‘Spitfire’ during a fiery argument over morning caf, she sputters into her mug and looks at him in disbelieving indignation. Poe knows that deep down she loves it, that she not-so-secretly basks in the attention he gives her. From that moment, Poe is a man on a mission to come up with more pet names just to see the array of reactions he can draw from her.  
  
‘Minx’ earns him an unimpressed eye roll, ‘Peaches’ makes her laugh brightly, ‘Supernova Nylah’ – born from a drunken stupor on her room floor – results in her burying her face in her hands before she tells him to go to bed.  
  
‘Kyberheart’, whispered in awe under a starlit sky, makes her eyes well up in tears. Poe smiles at the memory as he walks up a grassy ridge on his way back to the main bunker, enjoying the sunny day.  
  
He’s called her other names too – usually naughty ones – in private, stolen moments. Whenever he manages to cajole her into giving two minutes of her time in the middle of her day, he loves to whisper them into her ear, each raunchier than the other. The really good ones make the shells of her ears turn a lovely shade of pink.  
  
Poe sighs contentedly, rubbing a spot on his chest where his uniform conceals the bite mark she left the previous night. He heads back inside to join yet another strategy meeting. He’s not always entirely convinced of the efficiency of discussing X-wing formations for hours on end when all battles seem to end with a single clever shot and a big explosion. He’s expressed as much with thinly veiled frustration, but Leia’s admonishing looks and Fox’s steely glares have usually been enough to silence him.  
  
Still half in reverie, he walks into the meeting half a minute late. He excuses himself with a sheepish smile as he greets the senior officers briefly by title.  
  
His eyes find Fox who is standing by the large round table in the middle of the room. And maybe it’s the way her uniform looks particularly snug around her waist and tight across her chest, or how she holds the datapad in her slender hands, or how her black trousers hug her shapely, long legs – but, attempting to greet her like the respectful Commander he is, he just blurts out one word that almost kills him on the spot: “Foxy.”  
  
The second the new pet name leaves his mouth, he wants to disappear into the floor, preferably into another dimension entirely. No one says a word in response and if silence could stutter, surely that’s what should happen in this very moment.  
  
So he does the only thing he can think of – and clasps his hands in front of him like a shamed flight school cadet, fixing his eyes on a stain on the floor to avoid seeing Fox’s reaction.  
  
It must only be seconds, but for Poe the awkward silence feels like a small eternity.  
  
It’s Leia who ends his agony by asking, a touch loudly, for Ackbar to begin the meeting now that everyone is present. They discuss the number of X-wings the Resistance currently has and how to divide them into well-balanced squadrons after losing so many at Starkiller Base.  
  
By the time it’s his turn to speak, Poe braves a look at Fox whose face is completely unreadable, which he has learned to mean that he is in some kind of trouble.  
  
If only BB-8 was here, Poe thinks. The droid has a way out of every situation.  
  
He chooses to be unusually accommodating with everyone’s suggestions and requests, just to get out of the room fast.

* * *

It’s been hours and Poe has yet to face the wrath of one Nylah Fox. After the meeting, he has only glimpsed her briefly in the Command Center where she didn’t spare him a single glance.  
  
It unnerves him.  
  
“That bad, huh?” he says to no one in particular as he ambles along a corridor, BB-8 at his heels.  
  
The droid makes an impatient noise.  
  
“I know! I don’t think it’s anywhere as bad as me calling myself Poe Fox on the intercom.”  
  
BB-8 snickers.  
  
“And don’t think I’ve forgotten it was your doing, you – ”  
  
Whatever he would have said gets lodged in his throat as he sees Fox approaching him at a brisk walk. He braces for the inevitable, but then a smile blooms at the corner of her mouth. He mirrors it, and he can feel his posture relaxing. But instead of coming to him, she simply brushes past, giving him a teasing look.  
  
“ _Foxy_?” she whispers without stopping.  
  
Feeling his heart grow wings, Poe laughs. “You know it, because you are – “  
  
BB-8’s sharp squawk, full of distaste at his cheesiness, shuts him up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *rises from the dead* I said I'd finish this. I'm a woman of my word. I haven't seen The Last Jedi yet, but I will. Soon.
> 
> As always: my beta is the best.

**Author's Note:**

> This 5+1 is for all you lovelies who read and liked my multi-chapter fic about these two. Tags and rating (oh YES) to be updated as more chapters are added.
> 
> Not only is my beta a very good first reader, she is also pretty damn helpful in the development phase. Thank you, darling.
> 
> So, while I am busy writing this, what would you guys say to me writing a separate AU oneshot where Poe is a First Order pilot captured by the Resistance? ;)


End file.
